


we who slip past your guards in the night

by labellelunaclaire



Series: AUgust 2020 [9]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: AU-gust 2020, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Alternate Universe - Royalty, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-12
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:27:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25855111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/labellelunaclaire/pseuds/labellelunaclaire
Summary: Day 9 — RoyaltyLes Amis are an anti-monarchist group trying to bring down a corrupt king. Someone in the palace wants to work with them, and will find them at the ball the king is throwing for his daughter to find her a husband.
Relationships: Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables)
Series: AUgust 2020 [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1860763
Comments: 4
Kudos: 33
Collections: AUgust 2020





	we who slip past your guards in the night

**Author's Note:**

> Still playing catch up from the other day. Trying to churn these out quickly without sacrificing too much on quality! This one is partically inspired by — of all things — Disney’s _Cinderella_ , where the king invites all the eligible women to a ball to try to marry off his son. Which seems like a dangerous play for a monarch if you think about it!

“Quit fidgeting,” Courfeyrac said out of the corner of his mouth. “You’ll draw attention to us.”

Grantaire tugged at the bodice of her gown. “Easy for you to say, you’re not tightlaced,” she hissed back.

“Suck it up, R, or someone will start to question us.”

Grantaire huffed. She felt so intensely uncomfortable in her low cut, green ball gown, with its wide hoop skirt and off the shoulders sleeves. It was the finest dress she’d ever seen in her life, let alone worn. The Amis had a wide network of people with various skills who were willing to donate their time and resources to achieve their goal.

The king just happened to make their goal a little easier to attain with this ridiculous ball.

“I still can’t believe we’re literally just about to walk right into the palace,” Grantaire whispered. “It seems too easy.”

Courfeyrac smiled, looking devastatingly handsome in his perfectly tailored evening tails. “The party is two-fold,” he said. “Distract the peasantry with the hopes of social elevation, and get the stubborn princess married off so she stops making trouble and starts making heirs.”

“Sounds like the elite. Using their daughters as trading fodder.”

“Keep your eyes out, Grantaire,” Courfeyrac warned as they drew closer and closer to the vast doors of the palace. “We’re supposed to be meeting with an ally on the inside. They’re going to find us.”

“And we have no idea who this ally is?” Grantaire asked once more. “None at all? What if this is a trap?”

“We have one known operative inside whose an old friend of mine. He doesn’t believe it’s a trap.”

That didn’t exactly put her mind at ease.

“Just remember that if anyone questions anything about you, you’re my cousin,” Courfeyrac reminded her. “My name will go a long way in there.”

“Like I could forget how ridiculously rich you are, Courf,” she joked.

“Har har. Come on. Time to work.”

* * *

The ballroom was vast and gorgeous, decorated with gilded trim and plush hangings, fine paintings and even finer crystal chandeliers. The floors were polished marble with exquisite carpets that made her artist’s eye go mad with jealousy that such craftsmanship was being trampled beneath the heels of the nobility.

“Still not sure why you guys chose me of all people to do this with,” Grantaire said when they were safely inside. She eyed the footmen carrying trays filled with glasses of champagne, but knew better than to drink tonight. “I’m not the most elegant woman in the works.”

“First off, you have the same hair as me, very important,” Courfeyrac said, giving his dark curls a little toss. “But really, it’s because two men would draw attention. We needed a woman, and Éponine wouldn’t be able to blend in as well as you do.”

“A bit too prone to speaking her mind?” Grantaire asked innocently.

Courfeyrac smiled, showing off his perfect teeth. “Exactly. Even more so than you are, R.”

Grantaire rolled her eyes and glanced around the room at all of the people in attendance. It was easy to tell who didn’t belong in this level of finery. But that would only help her to blend in more. A large portion of the ball’s guests were common folk, allowed into the palace for the first time for the chance to woo the princess.

What a perfect obfuscation from the reality of what was going on outside these palace walls. It really was an incredible plan to placate the peasantry with bread and circuses.

Grantaire highly doubted that the man who would ultimately “woo” the princess would be common.

“I’m going to see if I can find Combeferre,” Courfeyrac said, also looking around the room. “Stay in this general area.”

“Got it,” Grantaire responded.

“And if anyone asks?”

“I’m Émelie de Courfeyrac, niece of Lord de Courfeyrac and your cousin.”

He smiled at her. “Good. I’ll be back soon.”

And then he was off into the crowd, leaving Grantaire alone. When a footman passed by with a tray of canapés she grabbed on and nibbled on it while she people watched.

“You’re dressed so fine, yet I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you at court before, my lady,” a voice said from behind her.

Grantaire turned and came face to face with an angel.

The woman before her was tall and slender, her golden hair arranged elegantly atop her head and decorated with jewels and flowers. Her dress was made of the finest red and gold silk satins and velvets, and her throat was adorned with a simple string of perfectly white pearls, accenting her creamy skin. She looked at though she had just walked off a fashion plate, or out of a yet-to-be-painted portrait by a master artist.

“I’m from far away, mademoiselle,” Grantaire told her. “I’m Émelie de Courfeyrac, visiting my cousin, the son of Lord de Courfeyrac.”

Her blue eyes lit up. “A cousin of Óscar?” she asked excitedly. “Oh, I remember how we would play as children together. I don’t recall him ever mentioning a cousin, though.”

Grantaire hesitated. “My parents preferred to raise me in the country, away from court.”

“How lucky of you,” she said wistfully. “And here I am, being paraded around in front of every man in the country like a mannequin for sale.”

_ Shit… _

“Your highness,” Grantaire said quickly, giving as graceful a curtsy as she could with how startled she was. “I’m so sorry, please forgive my ignorance.”

The princess laughed. “There’s nothing to forgive, my friend. Take the room with me?” she asked, extending her pale arm.

Grantaire took her offered arm hesitantly and allowed herself to be whisked away.

“So how are you finding the palace, Émelie?” the princess asked pleasantly as they strolled around the room, taking in the sights and sounds of the ball, ignoring the way people stared and whispered at them.

“Oh, er, it’s quite beautiful, your highness,” Grantaire said. “But I do believe I prefer the country.”

“I understand,” she responded. “I think I would prefer the country, as well. And please, just call me Ange. It’s what all of my friends call me.”

“Are we friends, then, Ange?” Grantaire asked, a little cheekily.

The princess turned her full attention on Grantaire, her blue eyes suddenly very serious. “I certainly hope we are. After all, I have been waiting for you, and I have a feeling we’re going to be corresponding with each other quite frequently after this.”

Grantaire stared at her for a long moment, realization dawning on her.

Their ally on the inside.

_ The princess. _

“Don’t you think we’re going to be the best of friends, dearest Émelie?” she asked, suddenly sweet and pleasant again, but with an air of mischief in her eyes.

Grantaire smiled back at her. “Please, Ange. My friends all call me R.”

**Author's Note:**

> Totally forgot that I had picked a better title for this one when I uploaded it last night. Title comes from The Mountain Goats’ _Clemency for the Wizard King._ No proofreading or beta. Just hopes and prayers that there’s no glaring flaws!


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